Master Gamgee of Bag End
by MartaL0712
Summary: Sam sings a lullaby to Elanor and remembers why he went on the Quest. The lullaby is based on the Celtic song "Mordred's Lullaby".


Master Gamgee of Bag End

by Marta Layton

Last Edited: 30 September 2004

Sam sings a lullaby to Elanor and remembers why he went on the Quest. The lullaby is based on the Celtic song "Mordred's Lullaby".

Master Gamgee of Bag End walked down Hill Lane. All around him the Shire sang to any who would stop and listen. The sun shone down on him, a wholesome light, and the early spring flowers reached up to embrace its warmth. He'd endured the darkness of Moria and the ash of Mordor for days like this. And now he had it, all the sunshine he could ever wish for.

So why wasn't he happy?

He crossed the bridge, leaving Bywater behind as he made his way toward Hobbiton. He stopped to watch the stream pass under him, and his memory drifted to other rivers, much more dangerous. _Just let me get out of this boat_, he thought to himself, _and I'll never wet my toes in a puddle again, let alone a river_.

When had he said that? After he left Lothlórien he guessed, out on that Great River. Ah, glorious Lothlórien, all starlight and moonlight. _The Elves, they understood what Frodo and I did_. But these hobbits -- the people we nearly died to save -- they just didn't understand. This afternoon they had made that much clear, at least.

The ruffians were gone, and you could hardly tell they'd ever been in the Shire. The Bywater hobbits had their mill to replace the monster Sharkey had built. Each and every pipe belonging to each and every blasted Proudfoot, Goodbody, and Hornblower was full as often as its owner thought to smoke it. And the mallorn tree stood in the field below the Hill, a fine match for the Party Tree as some dared to note.

Match! That mallorn was better than any tree the Shire had ever seen. Every goodwife's flower garden bloomed with a vengeance, thanks to the "ash" Master Gamgee had brought back from foreign parts. Children's laughter sounded throughout the farthings as they ran where they pleased, free from all fear of any ruffians. But did anyone ever thank him? Nary a word. Chasing black men up mountains, indeed!

And instead of getting down on their knees and thanking Mr. Frodo for saving them from the Riders, not to mention worse, they complained! Complained about every flower-stem a ruffian had broken, every pig slaughtered, every unpaid-for beer they had demanded. And three years after the last ruffian had been driven from the Shire, still they complained.

They'd complained nearly all that afternoon.

The Green Dragon had been full to overflowing. There wasn't a free seat in all the common room, and not much wall to lean on either. Sam stood in front of the cold hearth and faced them all, his thumbs hooked in his waistcoat-pockets. "I've agreed to meet with you today," Sam said, "because there's been words spoken that maybe I'm not doing as well by you as old Mr. Bilbo did."

Ted Sandyman nodded at that, along with some of the hobbits at his table, but Nibs Cotton shot him a look, and Ted settled down. Sam continued, "Now, I may not have as much money as he had, but what I've got, I've given -- more'n I could spare. Not to mention all that time I've spent helping you build that new mill, Ted, and everything else."

"It's not that you're not trying," Nibs said apologetically, "we know you are, Sam -- but things only got bad when you all them from down in Buckland went off to foreign parts --"

"I'll remind you," Sam answered, "that you are talking about the future Thain of Tookland, the heir to the Master of the Hall, and Frodo Baggins -- came of age right over the Water in Hobbiton, he did, and was honoured by the king and all."

"King!" Folco Boffin exclaimed. "We're not talking 'bout kings and wizards, but mushrooms and salt pork -- though from what I've heard kings and wizards have a lot to do with why we hain't got proper mushrooms, and precious little bacon. You done messed with your betters, Samwise, and now all of us have got to pay the price."

_They didn't understand, not a one of them_, Sam thought angrily and kicked absent-mindedly, knocking a stone into the river below him. The sound of the stone plunking into the water brought him back to the present, and he walked on across the bridge, knocking his knuckles on the oak tree that stood just on the Hobbiton side of the water.

That was the oak tree where he'd met up with Mr. Merry over fifteen years ago, not that long after Mr. Bilbo's party. Merry had wanted him to keep an eye on Frodo, and Sam had. He'd watched for anything out of the ordinary, and when he found it, he'd sent word all the way to Buckland.

"I am learning a lot about Sam Gamgee on this journey. First he was a conspirator, now he's a jester. He'll end up by becoming a wizard -- or a warrior!"

Sam looked around to see who was talking to him. No one: he was remembering again. When had that been? Not long after he left the Shire, he reckoned. A conspirator! Him! Gaffer Gamgee's son! He'd never planned on it, but he supposed he must have been one, and a good one at that.

_What did I answer_? Sam wondered. Then he remembered: "I don't want to be neither!" About the only thing he could answer, really. No self-respecting Gamgee would ever want to be anything _but_ a Gamgee. And Sam had never hoped for anything more than that: plain ordinary rest, and sleep, and waking up to a morning's work in the garden.

Or had he? He had all that now. Ted and the rest of them were just treating him like any other hobbit. But Sam had gone where even wizards couldn't, so that even the great goblins of Mordor thought him an elf-warrior. Wasn't that how he wanted all those folk back at the Green Dragon to think of him? Samwise the Strong?

No, of course not. Maybe he wanted a bit of understanding, and a bit of thanks, but that wasn't too much to ask, was it? Sam sighed loudly. This must have been how Gandalf felt. Wonderful entertainer at halfling birthday-parties, purveyor of dazzling fireworks -- and, in the hobbits' eyes, nothing more.

"He'll end up becoming a wizard -- or a warrior!" Who had said _that_?

Sam sucked in his breath sharply as he remembered. Frodo. But now Frodo was gone, gone with Gandalf, across the sea where wizards and elves went, far beyond Sam's reach. Frodo would never have to worry with another dunderheaded Bolger, Smallburrow, Chubb, or any of the rest, and for that Sam was grateful. But he wouldn't think on Mr. Frodo; the pain would break him in half, and Sam had promised his friend and master he'd learn to be whole.

Samwise trudged past Bagshot Row and the party field until at last he reached Bag End. He pulled the door open and stumbled into the parlour, dropping wearily into the arm chair in front of the fire where Frodo had sat, and Bilbo before him. But now Sam was the Master of Bag End, and he could sit wherever he wanted. He wouldn't have traded his gardener's spade for a dragon's horde, but as chance had offered him little choice...

"Sam, is that you?" Rosie called from the kitchen. He heard the kettle's screechy whistle and Elanor's scream. Weary though he was, Sam pulled himself to his feet and made his way down the hall to see what was the matter.

The kitchen door creaked open, and Rosie looked up. "How can I help?" Sam asked. Rosie walked over, holding Elanor against her shoulder, and kissed Sam on the cheek. Then Sam took his daughter.

"Take care of her," Rosie said, "or I'll never have dinner ready." Sam sighed to himself and pushed Elanor's hair out of her face. "Shh, Ellie, Da's here," he said softly, jiggling her gently as he made his way down the hall and out of the front door.

Sam carried her along the path around the hill, and Elanor's wails gradually faded away. Father and daughter leaned back against the base of an old oak, and Sam rocked her from side to side, softly singing a song his Gaffer had sung to him when he was Elanor's age.

"_Hush, child, your father is here to protect you,_

_Save you from whatever you fear --_

_Shadows and phantoms you know not --_

_But be not afraid for I am here_."

He hummed to himself, repeating this simple chorus until Elanor seemed to drift off to sleep. Whenever he stopped, however, her head jerked up. "Hush, lass, daddy's here," he cooed to her, rocking her back and forth. The sun sank behind the hills and the crickets began their sawing, heralding the approach of night. Without fully realizing it, Samwise Gamgee began a song all his own, much more mournful than any lullaby a proper hobbit should think to sing.

"_Hush, child, your father is here to protect you,_

_Save you from whatever you fear --_

_Shadows and phantoms you know not --_

_But be not afraid for I_

_Have fought them once, and I'd fight them again,_

_I'd tread o'er the mountain and crawl through the fen,_

_And if that dark shadow should rise up today,_

_I'd pick up my sword, ten thousand orcs slay_

_To protect you._

_I did it for you, I took the elf-light,_

_And I challenged that Spider, and drove her to flight,_

_And when all hope is lost, you must find a way:_

_You forget what you can't do, and do what you may,_

_In dark Mordor._

_Hush child, your father is here to protect you,_

_Save you from whatever you fear --_

_Shadows and phantoms you know not --_

_But be not afraid for I_

_Took that first step, and the one that came after,_

_Until I'd forgotten the sound of fair laughter;_

_The lembas was gone, and all our hope too,_

_But in that land of shadows you simply do_

_What you have to._

_Hush, child, your father is here to protect you,_

_Banished whatever you would fear --_

_Shadows and phantoms you know not,_

_But they are gone, and now I'm here."_

The stars hung by Elbereth so long ago shone down, casting the branches' shadows around Sam, as he rocked his daughter absently, remembering all that had befallen him far away beyond the Ephel Dúath. Yet the Star-queen was not the only one to watch over Sam that bitter dusk.

Rosie stood beside the open window in the kitchen, looking out at her husband rocking Elanor under that same oak where Sam, her brothers, and many others had come so long ago to hear old Master Bilbo's stories. The world had changed so much, she thought. Now Sam didn't just listen to stories, he was in one, and it had found him without Sam meaning for it to. She took the kettle off the fire. Dinner could wait.

She went outside and walked around the hill towards where Sam sat, rocking their sleeping child. On the way, she stopped in the garden and picked one of the beautiful flowers. Elanor. Sam had grown them from seeds he brought back from the Havens. A gift from Galadriel herself, he had insisted. Like all the elf-blooms they were beautiful beyond anything she had ever seen growing in the Shire. Twisting the flower between her fingers, she continued on around the hill and knelt behind her husband. She realised he was weeping.

Rosie reached around Sam's shoulders, tucking the flower behind Elanor's ear, and took a handkerchief out of her apron pocket and wiped away her husband's tears. She moved a finger to Sam's lips, hushing his song, and draped her arms around his shoulders. They were both quiet for some time. Then Rosie began softly to hum the tune of Sam's lullaby.

"Rosie, lass --" Sam began, but she shushed him.

"Just be still," she said, and she continued humming. Her hum turned to barely-whispered words, heard only by Sam as she leaned near his ear.

"_Hush, lad, the darkness is gone from the Farthings:_

_Now let it flee from your sad heart._

_You have seen many sad partings,_

_But now is the time to let_

_Those who love you to help heal your pain,_

_For I know that you never can be quite the same,_

_But you must be whole, at least for some time,_

_And I'll do what I can to remind you of what_

_You near died for._

_I don't know the details of your horrid tale,_

_But I'm there in your bed when you sit up and wail,_

_I know of the nightmares you'd send far away,_

_And whatever you saw there, I am here today,_

_And evermore._

_Hush, lad, the darkness is gone from the Farthings:_

_Now let it flee from your sad heart._

_You can't help those who've departed,_

_So now, won't you let me heal you_?"

Sam looked up at Rosie, the tears streaming down his face, and he remembered: dark nights and darker days, but also a hope brighter than any Elven star. _Harthad Uluithiad_ indeed. But was that enough?

He ran his fingers through her hair, and she kissed his forehead, her silken lips lingering on his weather-beaten skin. And then Sam wept all the harder for remembering. Yet not all tears are evil, so it has been said; and such was the case that evening in the heart of the Shire.

Notes

1 "Just let me get out of this boat... let alone a river!" This is a condensed form of Sam's statement from "The Great River," Book II, _The Fellowship of the Ring_, said as the Fellowship passes through some rapids after leaving Lothlórien.

2 "chasing Black Men up mountains" This is from a statement by Gaffer Gamgee in "The Scouring of the Shire," Book VI, _The Return of the King_

3 "I am learning a lot about Sam Gamgee... or a warrior!" This is from "The Flight to the Ford," Book I, _The Fellowship of the Ring_

4 Sam's statement about "plain ordinary rest" comes from "The Stairs of Cirith Ungol," Book III, _The Two Towers_: "'And then we can have some rest and some sleep,' said Sam. He laughed grimly. 'And I mean just that, Mr. Frodo. I mean plain ordinary rest, and sleep, and waking up to a morning's work in the garden. I'm afraid that's all I'm hoping for all the time.'

5 Sam thinks of himself as "Samwise the Brave" while wearing the Ring in "The Tower of Cirith Ungol," Book VI, _The Return of the King_

6 _Harthad Uluithiad_: Gandalf names Sam this in "Many Partings," HoMe vol 9: " I name before you all Frodo of the Shire and Samwise his servant. And the bards and minstrels should give them new names: Bronwe athan Harthad and Harthad Uluithiad, Endurance beyond Hope and Hope Unquenchable."

7 Sam's song is based on the tune of Heather Morgan's "Mordred's Lullaby." A studio version of this song is available at , though I imagine it much more in the acoustic style of the clip at http:sca.uwaterloo.ca/Marian/.


End file.
